


Set the Table

by alkjira, diemarysues



Series: Three [10]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bottom Thorin, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Present Tense, Sex on Furniture, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo returns home and stumbles upon a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set the Table

**Author's Note:**

> Really, the tags give away the plot. Do enjoy.
> 
> It's fun being back to co-writing, now that the BB is over. alkjira and I plan to do that the next time.
> 
> Edit: SHIT, after writing about co-writing I forget to add alkjira as a co-author. Sorry bb Dx

It isn’t very often that Bilbo is the one out of the country, but at least he can say that he wasn’t on business. Primula is his favourite cousin and he wouldn’t have missed her wedding for the world. It had been a little hard, as he’d sat in a field with the other guests, to come to terms with the fact that the same little girl he’d babysat as a teenager was now standing with her husband – but that glowing expression and the happiness in her brown eyes were the same as when she’d been a child.

 

He’d been surrounded by other relatives at the ceremony; a multitude of aunts and uncles and cousins several times removed. The weekend had been full of catching up and telling stories and enduring gossip – simultaneously exhausting and lovely, a clear reminder that there was a reason why Bilbo hadn’t been too upset to leave Hobbiton.

 

He loves his relations, but his contact with them was best limited to three or four meetings per year. Absence makes the heart fonder and all that.

 

It’s with something similar in mind that Bilbo gladly collapses into a taxi. He’d spoken to Dwalin and Thorin on the phone last night – lamentably with a phone rather than Skype, given the risk of a relative knocking at an inopportune moment – but that wasn’t the same as speaking with them face to face. He wants to see them. He wants to touch them.

 

Scenery whooshes past. Bilbo puts his forehead against the window, unseeing.

 

How strange is it that these two people had grown to be so important to his life? He’d never have thought that his relationship with Dwalin would have lasted this long, much less grown to include Thorin. Is that a good thing? It certainly feels like it, this love that seems all-encompassing and frightening, that makes his heart beat in anticipation as he puts his key into the door. He opens it to –

 

No one.

 

Odd. He’d seen Dwalin’s bike in the driveway, along with Thorin’s car. And they’d both promised to wait for him – maybe they’d stepped out for a late lunch? He fishes his mobile from his pocket, belatedly realising that he’d not turned it on after landing. He makes a _tch_ sound, closing the door gently and then toeing out of his shoes. Even if anyone had sent a message he wouldn’t have received it.

 

Bilbo drops his bag. What if – what if there’d been some kind of emergency?

 

A moan drifts from the kitchen and the phone clatters to the floor. Bilbo moves across the threshold, stepping quickly, socks muffling his already quiet footfalls. It’s better to be stealthy; if there is an attacker like – like _last time_ – then he’ll need the element of surprise. He isn’t strong or fast, not like his lovers, but if either one is hurt –

 

Bilbo stops before entering the kitchen proper, sliding a little against the parquet. He takes a deep breath; he knows this kitchen as surely as his own, he’d cooked here long enough. He knows exactly where the knives are.

 

Another moan. This one is muffled, low and long – unbidden, Bilbo’s cheeks heat, the rest of his blood mostly rushing southwards. That, that doesn’t sound like the result of an injury, that is –

 

But in the _kitchen_ – Bilbo steps forward. Then almost groans himself.

 

“The table?” he asks. “ _Really_?”

 

Dwalin’s head jerks up immediately. Thorin is a little slower in his reaction; he doesn’t look up so much as turn his head, the side of it pressed against the table in question. In fact, quite a lot of him is on the wood surface – only one foot is on the floor. His other leg is folded at the knee and hiked up on the table and he’s bent at the waist. This is a position Bilbo would’ve presumed uncomfortable, but he doubts Thorin cares – not when Dwalin is clearly buried all the way inside him.

 

Bilbo licks his lips at the sight.

 

“I thought your flight was coming in at six,” Dwalin says, apparently unconcerned at being caught in such a compromising position, and uncaring of the way Thorin tried to grind back on his cock.

 

“I said my flight was leaving at six.” He might have been annoyed at this inattention, but that would’ve been hypocritical given the way his eyes are intent on the ponytail Thorin’s hair had been pulled back into, ears listening raptly to every soft whimper. Bilbo looks up, met by Dwalin’s smug smile. “I’ll ask again: the table?”

 

“The bed’s a little too low for me to stand and fuck Thorin.” He makes a considering noise, hands massaging Thorin’s side but clearly not relaxing the other man in the slightest. “Though maybe, if he was right at the edge with his arse in the air…”

 

Bilbo puts a hand on the counter, leaning on it so he can pull off his socks. Now that he’s home he wants to be comfortable, and that means bare feet. “We could have done that,” he says pointedly, “if only you’d waited for me.” There’s a sharp tug in his belly at the image Dwalin paints; Thorin’s arse may have been up in the air but his head would be cradled by Bilbo’s thighs, mouth filled with Bilbo’s cock. Mmm.

 

Dwalin slowly moves his hips in shallow thrusts, not enough to satisfy Thorin but able to make his breath skip all the same. “It was an emergency.”

 

“Oh? He needed to have sex or he’d die?”

 

“I just thought that Thorin needed some loving.” Dwalin’s tone and expression are light and joking, but Bilbo knows that he is serious – just as he knows that Thorin is hit with bouts of insecurity from time to time. Just like they all are.

 

“You don’t seem to be doing much of this ‘loving’,” Bilbo comments. “He looks bored, he does – and no wonder, you’re hardly –”

 

The words are barely out of his mouth before the table starts rocking with the force of Dwalin driving forward. This percussion is joined by a shamelessly relieved symphony from Thorin, pleasure filled and pleasurable noises that fill the air and make Bilbo shiver. His brows are creased, eyes open. He gazes straight at Bilbo, right through to his soul, snatching the breath right out of Bilbo’s chest. Between Dwalin’s thrusts he whispers just loudly enough to hear, whispers, “Missed you.”

 

A stray lock of dark hair falls over his face and Bilbo wants to push it away. Push it away and sink his fingers into that surprising softness, scratching his nails against Thorin’s scalp to feel him shudder.

 

“Aren’t you going to join us?” It’s unfair that Dwalin’s so collected when Bilbo’s already unsure of his ability to string two words together. It’s his lovers’ fault of course. Deep voices from both – though one is growing hoarse –, muscles pulling taut then relaxing, the occasional glint of Dwalin’s nipple piercings, the curve of Thorin’s ear. All these and more form a picture that simultaneously freezes Bilbo to the spot even as he itches to rush forward.

 

He is being waited on for an answer, he realises belatedly as Dwalin raises his scarred eyebrow. “I… rather like watching.”

 

“I know that. Dirty voyeur,” he drawls, as if he doesn’t enjoy doing the same. “Don’t you love seeing my dick in him? Don’t you love listening to him beg?” Dwalin slows, happy to give a show. Just as Thorin’s jaw clenches and his mouth opens, one large hand slaps down on his arse. The breath he’d taken to speak huffs out of him – but there is a small smile curling his lips. He knows what Dwalin is doing, just as surely as Bilbo does.

 

“I would have liked the whole performance; the groping, the kissing. You fingering Thorin open.” It’s his turn to grin, power rushing through his body and lending him words. “Then maybe you’d have spared the table.”

 

Dwalin ignores it. “Think of it this way: I’ve readied him for you.”

 

“I like foreplay.”

 

“And you’ll get it.” The promise is clear in Dwalin’s eyes, along with determined anticipation. “For dessert.”

 

Bilbo’s trousers are starting to feel snug at this point. He wonders what they both have planned for him tonight – but the feast laid out before him can help him be patient.

 

“Now, though,” Dwalin continues, “I think you’d like to shove your prick down his throat. More’n that, I know he’d love it.” His voice drops; full of deep and dark promises that caress Bilbo’s spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You know it too, how good he is at taking it, how he’s going to swallow every drop you have to give. Lap it all up.”

 

Bilbo’s tongue swipes over his lips again, unconsciously. He’s seen it so many times before; Thorin’s half-lidded gaze, his cheeks alternating between hollowed and filled, the particular way he mouths the head. How often he comes by sucking cock alone.

 

He’s palming himself through his clothes now, unashamed even in the face of Dwalin’s glee. Bilbo’s not the one fucking or being fucked. He’s allowed some relief.

 

Now Dwalin leans over Thorin, rolling his hips at this new position, nipping his way along one strong shoulder to make Thorin cries louder. His hands are grasping the flesh of Thorin’s waist, the hard muscle there. “Are you going to take Bilbo as well as you’re taking me now? You always do. Both of us fucking you at the same time, you love that. You love it so much.”

 

Thorin isn’t really in a position to talk much for all the moaning but Dwalin talks all the more for it, compensating, straightening and again turning to an exceedingly aroused Bilbo. “Look at that mouth. Look at him panting and moaning. Look how wet it is.” Dwalin reaches down and clenches his hand in Thorin’s hair, twining the ponytail around his fingers, pulling his head back. “Don’t you want to make it wetter?”

 

Thorin’s lips are already flushed and a little puffy. Deliciously wet, as Dwalin says. Bilbo doesn’t know if it’s from kissing Dwalin or from biting them to try and stay quiet. If it’s the latter Dwalin has obviously told him to stop because Thorin is making all sorts of lovely and wanton noises now. 

 

Bilbo acutely understands Dwalin’s wish to have that as a ringtone, even if it was an impractical one.

 

“And look at this,” Dwalin says slyly – he tugs his handful again. Thorin whimpers and gets his arms underneath himself. It takes some difficulty – and helpful pulling on Dwalin’s part – but he manages to push up off the table.

Bilbo’s gaze drops slowly from Thorin’s pleading eyes and open mouth, down his bared neck, down his generously haired chest, down the sharp ‘v’ and line of hair that led to his –

 

Oh. _Hello_. That was new.

 

“I only just put it on him,” is the careless explanation. Dwalin’s free hand spans Thorin’s abdomen, fingers lazily dragging, stroking around his navel but never dipping down to where they’re most wanted. “Thorin tells me it’s just the right size. Certainly looks nice and snug.”

 

It certainly does, surely a helping hand in making Thorin beautifully flushed. Bilbo finally finds his voice. “A cock ring?”

 

“Give the man a prize,” Dwalin grins. “Better, give him a blowjob. Wouldn’t you agree, Thorin?”

 

Thorin licks his lips and drops his gaze to Bilbo’s crotch. Under this scrutiny, Bilbo pulls down his zipper almost without registering it, moulding his hand to the shape of his hard cock through his pants. Thorin’s just about to reply when Dwalin changes the angle of his thrusts a little. 

 

“I – _aaaah_. Bastard,” he moans and pushes back against Dwalin. “Again,” he says, half desperate whine, half authoritative command.

 

“You’re not in a position to make demands,” Dwalin says.

 

“But a very nice position all the same.” Bilbo finally moves. He stops by Dwalin, just shy of Thorin’s field of vision, and pulls off his clothes while watching Dwalin’s back and arse as he slowly thrusts. He had missed the two of them in a purely non-sexual sense, but he’d yearned for this as well. Delectable and gorgeous, all his and all within reach.

 

He can’t and doesn’t resist getting his hands on that arse. It’s there, and very squeezable. 

 

“Don’t get distracted now,” Dwalin warns, though he can’t stop his appreciative huff of breath when Bilbo digs his nails in.

 

He just hums softly and presses a kiss to Dwalin’s back. He’d have continued down his spine, and lower still, but that isn’t the plan. Perhaps later, if he asks nicely. “Just happy to be home with both of you again.”

 

One hand snakes over Dwalin’s hip, touching his cock, touching where he and Thorin are joined.

 

Both Dwalin and Thorin jump a little and groan in unison – it’s music to Bilbo’s ears. He smiles against the skin between Dwalin’s shoulder blades, reaching to twist one nipple ring, his other hand once more sliding the short distance along a slicked cock to Thorin’s stretched entrance.

 

Dwalin curses – despite not having a view of proceedings, Bilbo knows it’s because Thorin’s just clenched around him. He must realise that it might be the way to get what he wants and does it again on purpose. There’s a subsequent deep-throated groan.

 

“If you keep that up this will be over very soon,” Dwalin cautions darkly. “Go distract him,” he tells Bilbo. 

 

He obligingly detaches himself with a last friendly tug; Bilbo somehow smiles instead of smirking, gazing up at Dwalin from underneath his eyelashes. “Kiss me first?”

 

Dwalin’s expression melts into fondness and he leans down, opening his mouth against Bilbo’s – suddenly moaning when Thorin snaps his hips back.

 

Now Bilbo is smirking, even if it’s a bit wasted when no one can see it. When he finishes snogging Dwalin, pleased to leave the man flushed and instinctively reaching for more, he trots around to bestow the same treatment upon Thorin. Tugging him down by the hair, pulling some loose from his fetching ponytail. 

 

The way Thorin’s mouth opens beneath his and how he licks and sucks at Bilbo’s tongue does seem to indicate that he’d enjoy something else in his mouth as well. Who is he to deny such an earnest desire?

 

“You want me?” Bilbo murmurs. 

 

Soft exhales of breath puff against his wet lips in time with Dwalin’s hips. “Always,” Thorin rasps.

 

Bilbo kisses him again, nibbling at his lips just a shade too hard, just the way Thorin likes it. He pulls back just a whisper. “Show me.”

 

Dwalin helps Thorin get into position, lifting and pushing so more of Thorin’s body is in contact with the wood. The result is that he’s angled closer to Bilbo, breaths heavy and hot on Bilbo’s waiting cock, and he makes an utterly relieved – and somewhat muffled – sound when Bilbo fills his mouth.

 

“He likes it,” Dwalin says smugly, reiterating his lilting suggestions from before, and Bilbo would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t too pleased to be annoyed with Dwalin stating the obvious. 

 

Thorin bobs his head slowly, his eyes closed, his expression dreamily pleased. Bilbo shivers when Thorin pulls back to flick his tongue over the head of Bilbo’s cock, sucking hard for a moment before flattening it to the underside and swallowing him again. 

 

Bilbo does as he wanted earlier, push loose hair off Thorin’s face with one hand, the other scratching gently through his beard, feeling the swell and dips of his cheeks. He looks up.

 

Dwalin grins, gently and gradually starts to increase his speed, catching and holding Bilbo’s gaze. Bilbo’s mouth drops open when Thorin starts moaning in time with those thrusts. He’s trying to be considerate, tries to be still and not thrust and choke Thorin. It’s difficult. Since Dwalin is shoving him about enough already it just doesn’t seem like a good idea but when Bilbo accidentally gives a small thrust of his hips Thorin just moans again, louder though muffled.

 

Dwalin holds Thorin’s hips more tightly as to not rock him too much and tells Bilbo that he should fuck Thorin’s throat. 

 

Oh, he wants that. “Push him flat against the table,” Bilbo advises; the traction against the wood should keep Thorin unmoving for their purposes. As Dwalin does this, Bilbo steps back – almost echoing Thorin’s complaining whine – and brings in a chair so he can put one foot on its seat. They’ll both appreciate it soon enough, seeing as it’ll increase his field of motion. He bites his lip.

Then he pushes back into Thorin’s willing mouth.

 

Dwalin snags Thorin’s wrists and pulls his arms back, hands resting at the small of Thorin’s back. It does very nice things to his shoulders. Nice things indeed. Thorin strains to release himself; when Dwalin holds fast, he tries to bob his head to get more cock in his mouth.

 

Only then Bilbo gets an idea. 

 

His hips stutter to a stop, to Thorin’s audible displeasure. “If Thorin lies, oh, on his back instead, wouldn’t that be easier?”

 

Dwalin raises his eyebrows. “With his head hanging over the edge?” He’s slowed again, clearly imagining it in his head. Going by the way his eyes darken, he likes the images his brain supplies him with. “Would you like that?” he asks Thorin. “Would you like us to fuck your properly?”

 

“It would put less strain on your neck as well,” Bilbo says and strokes Thorin’s cheek. When both Dwalin and Thorin snort (or, Dwalin snorts and Thorin makes a stifled dismissive sound), Bilbo sniffs. “It’s all fun and games until someone is in pain.”

 

Dwalin can’t resist, he smacks Thorin’s arse again, this time harder. The sound Thorin makes is _not_ one of protest. 

 

“Make up your mind,” Dwalin says, roughly palming the reddening skin. Bilbo yearns to do the same. “He can’t keep that ring on for much longer.”

 

Bilbo pulls his cock from Thorin’s mouth. “What do you want?”

“To be fucked,” Thorin rasps and licks his lips.

 

Bilbo smiles helplessly at Dwalin, wordlessly bidding him to work quickly, and he does. As always, it’s wonderful to watch him work, pulling out of Thorin with a small shudder and then manhandling him into position as if he weighed nothing. This time he helps hold one of Thorin’s legs up, bent at the knee.

 

Bilbo’s attention shifts to Thorin; beautiful and long-legged, flushed and sweaty. He flops onto his back gracefully and braces one heel up on the table’s edge so both thighs are wide apart as he can manage. His head hangs over the edge closest to Bilbo, hair cascading, mouth open and wanting and just _waiting_ to be filled again.

 

Even if he’d gain no pleasure out of it himself Bilbo would have been glad to fulfil this wish. But as it is, sliding back between Thorin’s lips, into his throat, it’s enough to make him sternly tell his knees to stop trembling. The groan around his cock might be a sign that Dwalin’s cock is also back inside Thorin – he can’t tell, he’s too intent on the view below – or maybe it’s just Thorin’s appreciation of the change in position as it does allow him to take Bilbo’s cock much easier, and deeper, than before.

“So lovely,” Bilbo murmurs and strokes the tips of his fingers over Thorin’s throat. “So perfect.”

 

Dwalin hums in reply; Bilbo follows his gaze to Thorin’s flushed cock. He can just see the ring around its base and wonders how it feels – though he makes sure not to say anything out loud lest either of his lovers gets ideas. It’s almost gold-coloured and glittery, a clear indicator that it was Dwalin who bought it.

 

He is rather curious of how Dwalin got Thorin to wear it as well, considering that Thorin usually balks when it comes to pink and/or glittery things. Then again, Dwalin can be very persuasive – especially when he puts his mouth to good use as Thorin currently is.

Speaking of pink, Thorin’s cock has a deep, dark flush and lies hard and stiff against his stomach. Each thrust Dwalin makes jostles it slightly, and the precome leaking from the tip has made wet smears on Thorin’s skin. It makes Bilbo’s mouth water, frustration leaking through his pleasure because he’s too far away, too short to bend over and reach that far – but perhaps he can clean Thorin up later. Unless Dwalin gets there first.

 

He jumps a little when Thorin touches him. His hands are hot and damp, one greedily grasping the ample flesh of Bilbo’s arse. The other reaches blindly, patting the top of one thigh, sliding over the outside of Bilbo’s hip, and then finds its way between Bilbo’s legs. Bilbo’s mouth opens, gapes, voice jumping and breathy as his bollocks are massaged confidently.

 

“Do you want him to come in your throat or on your face?” Dwalin asks, his voice a rumble deep in his chest. He grins. “Hum once for throat, twice for face.”

Thorin hums once, long and toe curling. 

 

A laugh huffs out of Bilbo alongside gasps and he has to lean forward to brace against the table. “Keep doing that,” he says, “and that will happen.” Perhaps someone else would’ve been embarrassed or annoyed that he was going to come the soonest despite joining them last – but he has two gorgeous lovers at hand, one of whom is working him with tongue and lips. He can die now and be happy.

 

Except that it’d mean never getting to do this again, and probably traumatizing Thorin and Dwalin at the same time, so all things considered…

Thorin moaning again derails Bilbo’s train of thought quite thoroughly and his eyes slide shut without him telling them it was okay. There’s too much to see, too much delightfulness on display. When he wrenches them open it’s to find Dwalin’s big fingers fiddling the cock ring loose from around Thorin’s dick.

“You’re not the only one who’s close,” Dwalin replies to Bilbo’s unasked question. 

 

Bilbo can see the muscles in Thorin’s abdomen and thighs jumping, and the hand on Bilbo’s arse – only that hand, thank goodness – tightens abruptly. He takes this as encouragement and starts fucking Thorin’s mouth more quickly, just as Dwalin moves his hips more quickly.

 

It’s not graceful. They’re not filling him at the same time, or alternating so that one of them is always inside Thorin. It’s messy, and a little urgent, and when Dwalin gets a hand around Thorin’s cock it’s also without anything resembling rhythm or style.

But it’s friction, and it’s a gorgeous sight; Dwalin’s big hand slickly sliding up and down and sometimes covering the head, or just swiping his thumb over it and roughly tracing the slit.  

Bilbo is almost jealous of Thorin. He also wants to be fucked and touched and pleasured, and to have someone’s cock in his mouth. But that’s going to have to be another time, because even if they tried to switch things around now it would be all over before it had begun.

  
Also, he wants Thorin to get what he wants like this. Thorin deserves to get what he wants. And he’s so beautiful. So debauched. He’s flushed and smells of sweat and sex, the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallows around Bilbo. His sucking is a little clumsy now, as Dwalin’s grip on him firms, but absolutely admirable and more than enough to keep Bilbo’s thighs shaking.

 

Bilbo’s still braced against the table, else he might have fallen already. He’s close now, so close. And then Thorin’s hand on his arse tightens again, and that’s enough. More than enough.

 

He gasps in quick breaths and almost ends up on his arse on the floor, but somehow he manages to keep standing as he spurts into Thorin’s mouth. Thorin doesn’t manage to swallow all of it, but that’s fair enough, he’s busy. He’s also coming, white and wet over Dwalin’s fist and down on his own stomach.

 

Bilbo watches this for as long as his legs can hold him, and when they can’t he collapses onto the chair he’d drawn up. He strokes Thorin’s hair as he twitches and groans, fluttering kisses all over Thorin’s face, tasting his seed on the other man’s skin.

 

Dwalin’s breath whooshes out of him; he jerks his hips into Thorin with loud accompanying slaps of skin-on-skin. Thorin makes reedy, needy noises into Bilbo’s mouth, oversensitive, shaking, and Bilbo squirms in his seat.

 

He twines their fingers together and whispers praise into Thorin’s skin, both praise for Thorin but also how lovely Dwalin looks, flushed and panting. How lucky they are. How lucky Bilbo is to have both of them. 

“I thought –” Thorin’s words are seized away when Dwalin pulls out of him. “Thought I just had – both of you,” he finally manages after sucking in a few huge gulps of air.

 

Dwalin, who has indeed taken it upon himself to sort out the mess on Thorin’s belly, snorts between broad swipes of his tongue. Bilbo can’t sum up the energy to protest Thorin’s terrible sense of humour. Instead he just kisses him again, sucks on his bottom lip and licks inside his mouth until there are no more jokes there.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the formatting's buggered up. I did my best.


End file.
